


Pinball Wizardry

by fennecfawkes



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, Get Together, M/M, Unrepentant Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-04-05 01:46:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4160952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fennecfawkes/pseuds/fennecfawkes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe it's a good thing that Maria's not the only one trying to set Phil up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pinball Wizardry

“So there’s this guy in my calc class—”

“No,” Phil says, not looking up. They’re in the library, and they have a long-standing rule: Maria’s not allowed to try to set him up with someone while they’re studying. He has a World Lit final tomorrow, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t get an A. So far, he’s carrying a 3.8. And he wants to keep it that way.

“Take a break from Olaudah Equiano and let me tell you about Remy, OK? He’s Southern and hot and he likes close-up magic. You’re Midwestern and cute and you like dorky shit like that. It’s perfect.”

“Equiano deserves my full attention.” Against his better judgment, Phil puts down his book. “If he’s Southern and hot, why aren’t you sending Sharon after him? Sharon loves Southern guys.”

“How do you know he’s not gay?”

“Purely gay guys don’t like magic.”

“What about Neil Patrick Harris? Neil Patrick Harris likes magic.”

“Shut up, Maria,” Phil says wearily, thumbing his way through _The Interesting Narrative of the Life of Olaudah Equiano._ “Don’t you have finals?”

“Half done,” says Maria. “And all that’s left is easy. OK, if not Remy, then how about—that guy?”

She jerks her head to the left, where a sleepy-looking guy in a purple t-shirt is reading _Breakfast of Champions_. He’s with two girls and Tony Stark, whose father paid for half the buildings on campus. Stark’s muttering something to one of the girls—his girlfriend, Pepper, if Phil’s memory serves—who’s trying not to smile. The other girl, who Phil doesn’t recognize, stays stoic and keeps her eyes trained on her laptop screen.

“Why him?” Phil asks.

“He’s hot,” says Maria. “He’s reading Vonnegut. And he has friends in high places.”

Phil watches as Pepper’s eyes widen and she flushes bright red. The guy in purple reaches across the table and smacks Stark upside his head. Stark sputters for a moment or two before shaking his head and running his mouth some more. Purple rolls his eyes and turns his attention back to his book, but not before accepting a low five from the stoic girl.

“I do like a person who treats Stark like that,” Phil says. “You know his name?”

Maria shakes her head.

“You going to find out?”  


She nods, smiling wickedly.

Phil sighs. “Whatever. As long as you leave me alone with Olaudah for a bit, you can do whatever you want.”

.:.

Phil’s pretty sure he aces his final, and the two that come after it—African Politics and Children’s Literature—are a breeze. (People question the Political Science and English double major sometimes, but Phil’s got a great 1,000-yard stare that shuts them up. Usually.) He’s happy enough about it that he concedes to a celebratory dinner at Jasper’s favorite hole in the wall, Dos Osos. Phil’s nursing his third beer and second round of $9 unlimited nachos when the guy from the library walks into the restaurant and up to the pinball machine.

“Did you know he was going to be here?” Phil hisses at Maria, who’s just drunk enough to lean against Jasper in public. They’re usually aggressively anti-PDA, but both go a little lax on that when they’re tipsy.

“I swear I didn’t, Phil,” she says. “I did find out his name, though. I should write it down so he doesn’t hear.”

“Music’s loud enough that he won’t,” says Jasper. “I could’ve told you guys, anyway. It’s Clint Barton. We had Self-Defense together. Terrifying in class. Nicest guy you’ll ever meet as soon as it’s over.” Jasper nods at the girl who’s with him—same stoic one from the library—and she nods back. “That’s Natasha Romanov. She’s his best friend. Her boyfriend’s the one with the fake arm. They call him Bucky. Dumbass nickname, really nice guy.”

“Is she as scary as Clint is?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Jasper says. “Scarier. So tiny, and then she’ll flip you over her shoulder, no questions asked.”

“Are you speaking from personal experience?” asks Phil.

“Unfortunately, yes. But we’ve been on a nodding basis ever since.”

The server brings over another plate of nachos. Jasper thanks her, and they have a brief conversation in Spanish. She’s giggling by the end.

“If you’re flirting en Espanol, I will find out,” Maria warns him, and he laughs and kisses her on the side of the head. It’s only when they’re being this cute that Phil feels the pangs of loneliness. He’d dated here and there throughout college, but typically, classes came first. Turns out guys aren’t crazy about that.

“Stop looking like your dog died, Coulson,” says Jasper. “There are nachos. And you haven’t had nearly enough beer yet.”

Phil considers defending himself and takes a swig of beer instead. He’s about to ask Jasper when they’re headed back to Chicago. Then Bucky swaggers over, practically shouts Jasper’s name, and slides into Phil’s side of the booth.

“How’s it going, Barnes?” Jasper asks.

“Good, good,” says Bucky. “Just getting put to shame by Barton. Guy’s fucking incredible at pinball. Hey.” He turns to Phil. “Who are you and could you beat Clint at pinball?”

“Didn’t you enter pinball competitions as a kid, Phil?” Maria asks. “And he’s Phil. Phil Coulson. I’m Maria.” She extricates herself just enough from Jasper to shake Bucky’s hand.

“Thanks for revealing that part of my past to a complete stranger and assuming I can’t provide my own name, Maria,” says Phil. “Yeah, I might be able to take him. What are the stakes?”

Bucky shrugs. “We don’t really play with stakes. Clint doesn’t gamble. But he’d flip his shit if some guy in hipster glasses kicked his ass.”

“They’re not hipster glasses,” Phil says defensively. “At least, they weren’t when I got them in eighth grade.”

“Fair enough,” says Bucky. “I’ll spot you your first couple quarters.” He slides back out of the booth and lets Phil by. Phil, grateful that he was able to put away three beers before interacting with Clint (who, though he’d never let Maria know, was exactly Phil’s type physically), walks over to where Clint’s hovering over a KISS pinball machine.

“Your friend wants me to school you,” he says, making himself heard over the music. His voice, to his mild embarrassment, comes out a bit more gravelly than usual.

“Give me a minute, man,” says Clint. He’s not wearing purple today. The black and white baseball shirt suits him well, too, but Phil does miss seeing those arms. Clint has to be an athlete of some sort, though Phil hasn’t heard his name thrown around at football or basketball games. He has unobtrusive plastic hearing aids that look a lot like Phil’s little brother’s, right down to the casing, though Clint’s are purple, not blue. From that, Phil can deduce Clint’s hearing is partially reduced. Apparently it’s done nothing to stop him from athletics and arcades. Phil’s wondering whether or not Clint knows ASL when Clint’s last ball slips past the flippers. He gives the machine a hearty pat before turning to Phil. As soon as he sees Clint’s eyes up close—not quite blue or green or hazel but some combination thereof—Phil thinks that maybe he can deal with not seeing the arms for a while.

Clint breaks into a grin. “Have we met?” he asks. “Wait, Coulson, right? Phillip?”

“I don’t really go by Phillip, but yeah, that’s me.” Phil narrows his eyes at Clint till realization dawns. “Oh, we had English 101 together, didn’t we?”

“Yeah,” says Clint. “I don’t think I’ve seen you for two years. Where have you been hiding?”

“The library, mostly,” Phil says. “To be fair, I haven’t really seen you, either. At least, not enough to know you’re a pinball pro.”

Clint snorts. “Hardly. But I’m pretty damn good. Bucky says you can school me, though?”

“Yeah. Bit more profanely than that.” Phil realizes that at some point Natasha disappeared and he and Clint are alone at the back of the bar. He swallows hard and watches as Clint’s eyes drop to his throat. Interesting. That’s an avenue he may have to pursue later. “He even spotted my first round.”

Clint steps aside. “Go on, then. Show me what you can do.” He winks, and Phil flushes. He blames the beer. Still, he’s not alcohol-addled enough to fall short of Clint’s high score. That gets him a stunned expression and a rather pathetic high five. Phil notices Clint’s not meeting his eyes. He looks over his shoulder, where he sees Jasper, Maria, Bucky, and Natasha staring at the two of them. Bucky’s making a kind of “Hurry it up” gesture. Clint rolls his eyes and leans close to speak into Phil’s ear.

“OK, here’s the deal,” he says, breath hot against Phil’s face. Phil resists the urge to shiver. “Bucky told me that if you beat me, I had to kiss you. He said I was looking at you too much and needed to man up and fucking do something about it. Personally, I think I was looking at you just enough. You deserve to be looked at. But fair’s fair, right? I made a deal with him. So?”

Phil doesn’t have time to protest since he’s already kissing Clint. He’s not entirely sure it’s what he intended to do; he’d only moved his face a bit to look Clint in the eye, and then Clint’s lips were pressing against his, and it feels like they’ve been doing this forever. They fall into an easy rhythm, Clint’s enthusiasm causing their teeth to click together slightly in the most pleasant possible way. Phil’s tongue is in Clint’s mouth, and Clint’s sighing around it, sounding happy, adding a bit of suction, and Phil’s starting to hope that Christmas break never comes. Right now, he’d be totally content with kissing Clint for the rest of his waking life.

Then there’s a wolf whistle and a “Way to fucking go, Barton!”

“Ruin the moment, why don’t you, Barnes?” Clint growls back, but he sounds playful enough about it. He looks at Phil. “What do you think? Not too bad for a bet, huh?”

Phil feels his smile falter. “That’s all that was?”

“Oh. Shit. No. No, no, no, not at all, that’s not all it was.” Clint puts his hand up. “I—OK, so Nat and I were in the library this week and we saw you, and I remembered how smart you always were, and your presentation on _Slaughterhouse-Five_ —”

“I stayed up till 5am for that damn presentation,” Phil says, feeling his smile growing again.

“It was really good,” says Clint. “Anyway, I had a crush on you then, but I was a chicken shit freshman so I kind of lost sight of you, and then you were there rolling your eyes at your friend—”

“Her name’s Maria. She pointed you out to me. I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you.”

Clint waves his hand dismissively. “I was skinnier then. No archery yet.”

“Ah. So that’s where the arms came from.”

Clint grins. “I noticed you’re pretty fond of them.” He looks down at his forearms pointedly. Phil’s still holding them. Whoops. “Do you... Did you want to go somewhere? Hang out some more?”

“I’m leaving really early tomorrow morning to go back home,” Phil says. “Ohio. My family gets really into Christmas.”

“So no further hanging out, then? That’s a shame. I live alone.”

“Was that a line, Barton?”

“You bet it was, Coulson.” Clint winks, and Phil rolls his eyes, and Clint laughs and pulls him over to the table where their friends are gathered.

“So that went about as well as anticipated,” Bucky says, sounding proud of himself.

“You weren’t actually in on that, were you, Maria?” Phil sits down in one of the chairs Clint’s pulled over to the edge of the table. Clint sits next to him and puts his hand on Phil’s thigh. Phil feels his lips curve up into a smile as he laces his fingers with Clint’s.

“I’m not that devious,” she says.

“It wasn’t devious!” Bucky turns to Natasha. “Babe, tell them it wasn’t devious.”

“Don’t call me that,” says Natasha. “And no, it wasn’t. Clint needs a push every once in a while.”

“Thanks a lot,” Clint says, pouting slightly. It’s adorable. Phil wants to kiss the pout right off his face, but he thinks better of it, focusing instead on the remains of the nachos. Once they’ve been picked clean and Clint’s said an adorably sincere—if a little bit embarrassing—thank you to Bucky, Phil looks down at his watch.

“Damn,” he says. “It’s past 12. I should get going.” He looks over at Jasper.

“We’ll get a ride from someone else,” says Jasper. “We’re not leaving till four tomorrow.”

“Anyone else need a lift?” Phil squeezes Clint’s hand, and Clint clears his throat.

“I could use one,” he says, and Natasha smirks, and Bucky guffaws, and both Jasper and Maria can’t seem to control their laughter, either.

.:.

Phil’s not sure which way to turn out of the parking lot. He looks at Clint imploringly.

“I live in Marshfield,” says Clint. “The apartments a couple miles away from here. Do you know where they are?”

“Yeah, I should, I’ve lived there for a year,” Phil says, and Clint grins. He’s been doing that a lot. Phil likes it. Come to think of it, Phil’s pretty sure he likes everything about Clint.

“So, why are you so good at pinball?” asks Clint.

“Bucky must’ve done his research,” Phil says. “I used to play in tournaments when I was in junior high and high school.”

“No shit?”

“No shit. If you didn’t drink or have sex, and I definitely wasn’t doing either, there wasn’t a lot to do around my town.”

“Not drinking when you’re a kid is smart, but no sex, really?”

Phil shakes his head. “Still figuring out the whole ‘liking boys’ thing, you know?”

“Oh, yeah.” Clint nods. “I hear that. I was in the circus when I was younger, so they were OK with a bit of, you know, weirdness. Not that bi is weird. It’s just ... unusual for a 13-year-old to be so open about wanting to kiss both boys and girls.”

“Sorry, still stuck on the part where you were in the circus.”

“I did archery but gave it up when I got a good foster family in high school,” says Clint. “Pretty normal childhood, really. Orphaned at 8, circus by 10, whisked away by a ridiculously nice couple in Iowa by 14.”

“You just made me feel really boring,” Phil says.

“You’re not.” Clint reaches over and squeezes Phil’s shoulder. “Vonnegut fans who are great at pinball and have ridiculously amazing eyes can’t be boring.”

“You meet a lot of Vonnegut fans who are great at pinball? I can’t verify the third thing.”

“I can.” Clint’s voice drops slightly. Phil finds he has no control over what’s coming out of his mouth as he hears himself say somewhat hoarsely, “I live alone, too, you know.”

“Yeah?” Clint looks at him, pupils dilated ever so slightly. “Was that an invitation?”

“Depends.” Phil drives into the lot and parks outside his building. Turning off the engine, he looks at Clint. “I’m a historically awful boyfriend. You still want to try this? I don’t do one-night stands.”

“I’ve been into you for a long time, Phil,” says Clint, leaning across the center console. “Lost sight of you, yeah, but didn’t forget you. Of course I want to try this.”

“OK. Then let’s try it.”

.:.

Four days later, Phil gets something like his 15th text from Clint. He’s sent just as many, if not more. This one’s a picture. Clint’s dog—Lucky, a golden retriever—is on Clint’s lap, licking Clint’s face.

_You’re a better kisser than he is._

Phil grins. He can practically hear his mom shaking her head.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell us you had a boyfriend,” she says.

“I didn’t till the night before I got here,” Phil points out.

“Are we going to get to meet him?”

Phil hesitates. He’s been with Clint for all of four days and one night, only physically with him for one of those, and though there’d been plenty of making out and then some that night, they’d mostly just stayed up late talking. Clint had fallen asleep on Phil’s shoulder at some point, and they’d woken up on the couch. Phil was sore as all hell but happy enough to compensate. Saying goodbye had taken a solid 20 minutes and about as many promises to text as often as possible and call every night. “I’m not losing this as soon as I get it, Coulson,” Clint had said, eyes sparkling.

Phil turns to look at his mom and smiles. “Yeah,” he says. “I think you are.” Then he returns his attention to his phone, trying to think of a clever enough reply for Clint. Clint deserves more than Phil's cleverness, but he's sure he'll think of something.

**Author's Note:**

> Just imagine Phil dating Gambit.


End file.
